


Knee Socks

by lilithenaltum



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Casual Sex, Codependency, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Relationship(s), Screw the Bro Code, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-02-27 22:44:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18748582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithenaltum/pseuds/lilithenaltum
Summary: They say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. It just so happens that someone else is her sort of kind of ex's best friend. Oops.Or, Princess Shuri is so ready to be over her crush on Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers forgets all about the Bro Code....A collection of interconnected prompt fills, taken from the "200 Dialogue Prompts" post ontumblr.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> a regularly updated playlist has been started on [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/melanimal/playlist/1cI7K0AVa5Q0JgPZkxiuqh?si=d57WBOykQsq0G2PZD0JgaA)

_well, you cured my january blues_ , _y_ _eah, you made it all alright_

_i got a feelin' i might have lit the very fuse that you were tryin' not to light_

_you were a stranger in my phonebook i was actin' like i knew_

_‘cause i had nothin' to lose_

_when the winter’s in full swing_ _and your dreams just aren’t comin' true_

_ain’t it funny what you’ll do?_

**knee socks** | arctic monkeys

* * *

 

for **malaiikka** , who requested:

 

 

######  _c50: “How drunk was I?”_

 

She hates waking up not knowing where she is and it’s been happening a lot lately. But those were the consequences of drinking too much and she had plenty of reasons to drink too much.

 

Seeing Bucky, and seeing him with someone else, and seeing him _happy_ , had tipped her over the edge from pleasantly tipsy to blackout drunk again and it wasn’t cute. So when she wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, she wonders if maybe she’d taken some random home again like she had before. She’d sworn she wouldn’t do that again; it was too risky, especially with her title and with how the world outside of home worked.

 

The sheets are soft, wherever she is, and her clothes are all still on. That was something. Maybe someone had taken pity on her at the club and let her sleep it off. Hoping for small miracles, she swung her legs over the bed and immediately needed to vomit. Bile built quickly in her throat and pushed up her chest until she found the closest thing beside her–a small wastebasket–and hurled up the last of the alcohol she’d imbibed hours before.

 

“I guess that’s the last of it,” she hears, from the corner. It’s a soft declaration and the voice is painfully familiar, even if she’d been avoiding it for a few years. Their last meeting hadn’t been very friendly.

 

Shuri blinks in the too bright morning sun and thanks whomever that she doesn’t really have a headache. All she’s got is that odd crawl in her gut from vomiting too much and a slight burn in her nose. And there’s Steve Rogers, in a tee shirt and jeans, looking like the American dream and regarding her with a mix of pity and frustration. She wants to slap him, but he had taken her home last night, apparently, and maybe she ought to try being thankful instead.

 

“How drunk did I get?” she asks.

 

“The important questions first, huh?” he says. There’s a light laugh, and Shuri thinks it’s tinged with sadness. “Drunk enough that if I hadn’t gotten to you, you’d have taken off with some scumbag who had spiked your whiskey.”

 

Shuri frowns. “My drink was spiked?”

 

“That’s what Buck says.” Steve shrugs. “I wasn’t there. Anyway, the guy has a broken nose and is probably gonna be in jail for attempted rape. Buck got arrested for disturbing the peace and Sam bailed him out almost right after, so…”

 

“Shit.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve says with a sigh, “Shit.”

 

There’s silence for a while as Shuri tries to collect her scattered thoughts. There’s the slight hope that maybe Bucky had done what he’d done because…well, no, she had to remember that he’d made it blatantly clear that while he’d always care about her, he couldn’t continue whatever they’d started, no matter how intense.

 

_We’re better off as just friends, sugar_ , he’d said with sad eyes. _Please don’t ruin that._

 

Shuri shakes her head and attempts to stand again, taking her time lest the floor spins any faster than it already is. She doesn’t take two steps before she’s too dizzy to keep going, but strong hands are wrapping around her waist and holding her steady. She looks up and the blue of Steve’s eyes are so deep and startling that it renders her senseless.

 

Had his eyes always been that blue?

 

“Why are you being nice to me? I called you a self righteous asshole once, you know.”

 

Steve snorts and shrugs, the way he always did when he couldn’t quite explain why he did what he did and Shuri silently admits that it’s painfully adorable. He is painfully adorable sometimes, too, but right now, he looks like safety and comfort and she hates how badly she wants him to never let her go.

 

“I also told you that you were a spoiled, selfish little brat, so we’re even.”

 

“Are we?”

 

“You saved my life once,” he says gently. She doesn’t think about the war much, if she can help it, because that means thinking of what they’d all lost and she really didn’t want to dwell on that. “Maybe I can repay the favor a little.”

 

Shuri thinks she smiles, though it’s probably more of a grimace and nods slowly. “What do you have in mind?”

 

“Well, I got you into bed safe and sound,” he says and she lowers her eyes.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Don’t mention it. But how about something to eat? Even if it’s just a little something.”

 

Shuri does smile this time, a half quirked crooked thing that he returns. “You can cook, Captain?” she asks, and Steve laughs softly. She thinks there’s something in the way his eyes sweep her face and she is a little terrified that maybe she’s more to Steve than his best friend’s sorta ex flame.

 

“Sam taught me a few basics,” he says. “C’mon. There’s a pancake in there with your name on it.”

.

.

.

.

for **jetaimeamore** , who requested:

b2, b14, b25, b42, c42, d34, d49 

****

######  _b2: “You want a bite?”_

****

The whole “making breakfast” thing leads to something a lot bigger than just food, though not on purpose, at least not on her part.

****

It sort of starts out like this: she has pancakes after her drunken nightmare in the club, and they’re actually pretty good. She takes home a stack, wrapped in paper towels to keep warm with a little tupperware container of syrup and a pat of butter, and eats them for lunch because she’s not in any mood to cook and she doesn’t want to order out. Occasionally, over the course of several weeks, he pops by with sandwiches for lunch at the university or asks her to meet him for ramen on the weekend.

****

And then one night, when she’s tired of trying to run off her demons and the loneliness is way too strong, she calls Steve Rogers up and asks him to dinner.

****

“Nobody’s open at 2 a.m., Shuri,” he says, in his very matter-of-fact kind of way. But he’s not patronizing by any means. That’s just how he sounds, a deep, sturdy voice; a voice like a river, she thinks. It’s there and always has been and it’s oddly soothing.

****

“There’s probably a hole in the wall open, at least,” she says. She thinks she’s whining but she hopes not; at 24, she’s too old to be whining about wanting burgers this late at night. “I mean, this is New York. Nothing ever turns off here, right?”

****

Steve’s laugh is like it always is–soft and gentle, and a little bit breathy. She wonders if that laugh is really his or the one he puts on for her, and part of her hopes he’s got a secret laugh reserved for the Princess of Wakanda.

****

(Part of her hopes a lot of things about Steve Rogers nowadays. It’s confusing. But it’s better than moping over Bucky, that’s for damned sure.)

****

“There’s plenty of places you can get a bite at 2 a.m. but none of them are any good.” He pauses for a moment and the silence crackles between the lines like paper. “But hell, my stove works just fine.”

****

“I thought I’d woken you up,” she says dryly. It’s just a disguise. She’s excited to be leaving her big, empty penthouse for something as simple as dinner with Steve.

****

Dinner with a friend. Dinner with the captain. How quaint.

****

“You did.” He sniffs as if he’s a little put out about it, but she knows he really isn’t. “But I’m not gonna fall back to sleep anytime soon, so...you may as well come over. You remember how to get here, right?”

****

She does.

****

The uber from Manhattan to Brooklyn is clean and peaceful and the night sparkles around her like fireworks, but it’s still relatively calm outside. Maybe because it’s a Thursday. Maybe because there’d been another snow storm that afternoon and everyone was still recovering from the drift. Maybe. She had no idea, except she enjoyed her trip and thanked her driver and tipped him an extra fifty bucks.

****

Steve meets her on the doorstep of his cozy little brownstone before the car even pulls away. It’s warming to imagine he’s waiting on her, but in truth, she realizes he’s simply being courteous and so she pushes that cozy feeling down as much as she can. She’s here for food, and for conversation, and a distraction. She’s tired of overthinking everything.

****

“Chicken, roast potatoes, and broccoli or green beans,” he says by way of greeting, taking her purse and coat and hanging them in the foyer. “Which veg do you want?”

****

“Broccoli,” she says almost automatically, though green beans sound good as well. Steve leans down and accepts the almost shy hug she offers him. The kiss to her cheek is quick and chaste but she shivers anyway, and he frowns.

****

“Should I turn the heat up?”

****

“No, I’m fine.” She was. Mostly. She was actually warmer than she’d been standing outside in the 15 degree cold.

****

“Are you sure?”

****

She nods and follows him to the kitchen, where he’s got potatoes lined on a baking sheet and chicken butterflied in a cast iron skillet. Steve hadn’t been lying when he said he could cook, but she has a feeling Sam hadn’t taught him all of this. This, he’d already known how to do, because the meat had been cut too expertly and the broccoli was steaming just right.

****

“Uh, make yourself at home, I guess.” He pulls out a chair at the island and she slides up into it, tucking her hands beneath the soft denim of her jeans. And then Steve works on their dinner and as he cooks, they talk.

****

“They’re expecting another baby,” he says, about Tony Stark and his wife Pepper and Shuri smiles, because she likes Tony a lot and Pepper even more and little Morgan is going to be the cutest and best big sister. “Pep says this is probably it, but let Tony have his way and he’d have at least a dozen kids.”

****

“He’s great with them,” she comments, and she shifts in her seat. And then, almost as if she couldn’t stop herself from saying it, “You are too, by the way.”

****

Steve turns a bit and smiles and the crinkles in his eyes make him look so incredibly boyish. She has to remember he’s 106 years old because right now, he reminds her of a cheeky teenage boy.

****

“I try. I mean, that’s kind of part of my job.”

****

“Being child friendly?”

****

“Mmhm.” He flips the chicken in the pan and she watches his muscles flex under the soft shirt he wears. It’s only then that she realizes he’s got on pajama pants. “I’m a role model. Or something like that.” Steve shrugs best he can with a cast iron skillet in hand and she gets waves of something from him. Not quite irritation, maybe resignation. He hadn’t asked to be a role model anymore than she had, not really. And yet, all the little girls in the world looked up to Princess Shuri, just like all the little kids in America thought Steve Rogers was the embodiment of goodness and righteousness.

****

The truth was, Steve was as complex and messy as any other human being, and Shuri was starting to discover that.

****

“It could be worse,” she finally says, leaning forward on the island. “You could be like Barton.”

****

Steve snorts.

****

“Designated dad friend,” he says and laughs again. She watches as he cuts the chicken into two portions–his bigger, of course–and begins to make their plates. It smells divine, and she’s sure it’ll taste good too. The pancakes had been awesome, or maybe she’d just been that hungover. Either way, when he slides her plate to her and hands her a fork, she digs right in and nearly moans at how delicious the meat is.

****

“You’re really good at this cooking thing.”

****

He grins.

****

“You’re pretty good at stroking my ego about it, so I won’t argue with you.”

****

Shuri almost says something about stroking something else, but catches herself just in time and drops her gaze to her plate. She eats in silence for a while, clearing the plate of broccoli and potato in record time. The chicken is half gone, too, and she glances up to find Steve staring at her in interest.

****

“When was the last time you ate anything?” he asks, almost too softly.

****

“Don’t tell me you’re concerned about my eating habits, Captain,” she quips, rolling her eyes, but she almost craves the attention. It almost reminds her of being 19 and having Bucky hover around her like a mother hen, pushing her to eat more and watch her speed and make sure she wore enough layers during winter. She shakes her head imperceptibly. She really did not want to think about Bucky right now.

****

Steve seems to know where her mind is going. He doesn’t say anything, but he lifts his fork, full of roast potato, and offers it to her. “You still look hungry. Want a bite?”

****

She almost laughs until she realizes he’s serious. His eyes are focused entirely on her and his hand never wavers, and honestly, the potatoes look amazing and she really is still hungry. It can’t hurt to humor him. So she leans forward and opens her mouth and he lets the fork slide from between her lips slowly, smoothly, bits of oregano and parsley catching on the corners. She licks salt from her lips and chews with purpose and if she’s right, Steve was barely breathing.

****

Shuri swallows and clears her throat, takes a large gulp of iced water, and smiles tightly.

****

“What’s for dessert?”

.

.

.

. ****

######  _b14:_ _“You want chocolate or vanilla?”_

 

Ice cream is for dessert, though it’s freezing outside. Steve says that ice cream was best in winter, so she takes his word for it.

****

“Uh...what flavor?” Steve’s voice hasn’t gotten back to normal yet. It sounds off. But it’s not a bad thing, just different. “I’ve got...chocolate...more chocolate. Chocolate fudge brownie, vanilla, vanilla bean, strawberry, butter pecan-”

****

“Chocolate fudge brownie.”

****

He digs around inside the freezer, bent over so she can see the curve of his ass, and tugs out a tub of ice cream, covered in crystals and ice. His face is apologetic. “Might be a little freezer burnt, actually. Is plain chocolate okay?”

****

“It’s going to have to work,” she says with a shrug, and he tosses the unopened carton onto the counter.

****

Shuri gets two scoops because she’s got a sweet tooth, but Steve gets four because his is bigger. Then again, everything about Steve is big; his shoulders are massive, his chest is a barrell. His smile is humongous when he’s really happy about something. It’s little things about the big things, about his big, booming voice when he’s reenacting a fight he’d had or telling her a funny memory. It’s the curl of his hair of the scruff of his full beard. She’s glad he grew the beard back. He looks delicious with it.

****

She’s got a spoonful of ice cream halfway to her mouth, while he’s chattering away about engine parts, and she realizes she’s almost painfully attracted to Captain America. (Well, not quite, he’s retired technically; Sam’s the new Cap right now, but that’s neither here nor there. He’s still Cap in some capacity, so she still calls him that.)

****

“You really have to quit doing that,” he says, and he’s very close. She could lean up and press her mouth to his chin if she stretched a bit, but she doesn’t. He wouldn’t want that.

****

Would he?

****

“Doing what?” She sounds so spacy. She’ll blame it on lack of sleep. Thank god she’s not got anything to do tomorrow, except call Umama back home. “I’m not doing anything.”

****

“You start drifting away when I’m talking.” He doesn’t sound offended, just curious. But he teases, and it makes her giggle. “Am I that boring? Jeez. Tony always tells me I’m too straight laced.”

****

“You’re not. I promise.”

****

“I’m talking to a beautiful woman in my kitchen, at three am in my pjs about engine parts. Most grown men don’t talk about engine parts this time of night.” His eyes do that thing where they’re staring only at her once more and her mouth runs dry. Once upon a time, she’d have thought him boring and annoying. Once upon a time, she’d been in love with his damaged, dangerous, charming best friend.

****

Maybe she’d gotten the wrong man under her skin the first go round.

****

“Flattery, Rogers, I expected better,” she says, and he laughs, but this time, it’s not the careful, quiet kind. It’s as booming as his voice can be, as large as he is, and it thrills her and sends shivers down her spine as it tapers into a dark chuckle.

****

“Am I not telling the truth? Are you not beautiful?”

****

“I’m a lot of things,” she breathes, and because she knows she’ll do something stupid, like kiss him, probably, she takes another scoop of ice cream and shoves it into her mouth. Bast help her, she nearly gets brain freeze.

****

“You are,” he agrees, and he settles back in his chair, quiet again, though discussion of the parts of the engine he’d been rambling about trickle back out for safe measures.

****

Engines, she thinks, and she almost smacks herself. Engines when she could have talked about something else, notably his body, his mouth, the way he sounded when she touches him. She wants to.

****

_God, I need to get laid._

****

“I’m guessing you’re spending the night, then?” he says later, taking their empty bowls with half dried milk cream around the edges to the sink. It sounds so innocent, but his words are laced with innuendo. She catches it as if he were tossing her an easy underhanded pitch.

****

“Sam says your couch is nice,” she agrees, and she slips out of her boots and heads for the living room. But a large hand stops her and she waits, until it slides down her elbow, fingertips just barely touching her skin, and she lets out a sharp breath.

****

“Wanted to ask you something,” he says gruffly. She’s a little afraid to ask him what it is, but anticipation builds and she’s never been a pussy about jumping into the deep end.

****

“What is it?”

****

He stalls, if only for a moment, and then:

****

“Wanna dance with me?”

****.  
  
** **

****.** **

****.** **

****.** **

######  _b25: “Hold my hand.”_

****

He puts on something soft and slow, a jazzy sort of number that she’s not familiar with. She guesses it’s from the forties, much like most of the other music he listens to. Steve had told her he was still playing catch up on his music; even with excellent recommendations from Sam and Tony and Bruce, he was far behind. But a little bit from the past never got old, so she stands in the middle of his living room and curls her toes into the rug as he approaches.

****

“Alright, so...you know how to do this, right?”

****

She almost snorts. “I’m a princess, Rogers,” she says smartly. “I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I know how to slow dance.”

****

He doesn’t respond at first. He steps closer and pulls her flush against him, almost abruptly, and she gasps, and Shuri swears she sees him smirk, but he drops it so quickly, she wonders if she imagined it. Cheeky little shit.

****

“Yeah, I’m aware. But can you dance to this?” He nods his head towards his stereo system–an old fashioned record player because Steve Rogers put the ‘hip’ in hipster–and tightens his hold on her waist. She almost melts into him, he’s so warm.

****

“Probably. Sure.” They begin to sway then, and though it’s a little stiff and awkward at first, she catches the rhythm. She hopes she doesn’t come across as a novice, but it wasn’t as if she did too much slow dancing.

****

The truth was, she’d only slow danced a few times and not to any jazz music. She’d slow danced a while ago in a dark club to something a lot more raunchy, with Bucky, and that night had been the night she’d dragged her mouth down his throat and crawled into his lap with every intention of taking him for all he was worth.

****

Except he’d pushed her off him in a haze and stared at her like she had three heads and had ran to the other end of the room, but Shuri wasn’t in the mood to revisit all her past mistakes, so she pushed that memory out of her mind and quickly.

****

Maybe she wasn’t quick enough. Maybe Steve was entirely too knowing for his own good, or that weird bro code between guys meant Bucky had gone to Steve (and probably Sam, too) and told them all about the pathetic little girl who’d wanted to fuck him, over beer and hot wings, with that aggravating beautiful sad face of his.

****

_“God I don’t wanna ruin our friendship,”_ she could hear him saying. _“She’s such a wonderful gal. Just want her to realize we wouldn’t work that way.”_

****

“Hey.”

****

She blinks and sucks in a breath and she feels horrible about where her thoughts have taken her, but Steve doesn’t look angry. He looks sympathetic. She almost hates that more, though.

****

“Don’t...just...I’m over it.”

****

“Right.”

****

“I am!”

****

“I believe you.” He leans in a little more and she catches a bit of the chocolate still on his breath. In this light, the blue of his eyes is even more unreal. She swallows and glances away, but a gentle hand comes up to grasp her chin and she can’t move. “For what it’s worth,” he begins, and she hears something dark in his voice that makes her body tingle, “Buck’s a fuckin’ idiot.”

****

Shuri’s eyes widen, partly because she’s only ever heard Steve curse once, and even then it was tame (just a good, solid “shit!” when he’d stubbed his toe at the park). But mostly it was because he was dead serious and his breathing had picked up and as he swayed with her around his living room, she could feel every inch of him vibrating against her.

****

She likes it. She likes it entirely too much, and it’s terrifying, but in an exciting, almost intoxicating way. She presses in closer and Steve slips one of her arms from around his shoulder.

****

“Here,” he says, curling his fingers into hers, “hold my hand.”

****

His hands are huge. They dwarf hers and the callouses on the palms brush against the tender spots of her own. Shuri tries to keep her heart beat from skyrocketing because she’s done enough research on that serum that swirls around in his blood via the bastardized version in Bucky’s to know his hearing is almost too keen. But it’s no use. He feels like a man against her, all solid muscle and coiled, quiet strength. He’s so big, and she’s got a kink for big things that want to cover and press into her smaller things and she thinks that if he wanted to, he could have whatever he wanted from her.

****

Yeah, she really needed to get laid. This was ridiculous.

****

“Steve,” she starts, but she isn’t sure how to approach him with what she wants. She isn’t sure at all. So she keeps swaying, eyes on his, body burning with want, until she thinks she’ll lose her mind. But before she can do something rash, the song has ended and Steve pulls away, leaving her aching and a lot colder than she’d been before.

****

“I usually don’t drink on a weeknight,” he says. “But how about a nightcap before bed?”

****

“Only if you’ve got whiskey,” she breathes, and he grins.

****.** **

****.** **

****.** **

****.** **

######  _b42: “Shut up and kiss me.”_

****

Steve’s liquor cabinet is pretty sparse, but she’d expected that. He doesn’t drink much because nothing gets him drunk except that really strong stuff of Brunhilde’s. But what he does have is top notch quality. He pulls out some Johnnie Walker Blue, and Shuri takes the shot glass with a clink to his own.

****

It’s strong. She almost loses her breath but knocks it back anyway, like a pro, and part of her is a little worried that maybe she’s too good at this drinking business. But the whiskey is smooth and Steve is pouring another shot, and she raises a brow as she settles on the couch.

****

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Captain?” she asks, teasing, and his smirk could go either way.

****

“Nope. Just trying to take the edge off a little.”

****

“Hm. Didn’t realize I had an edge to take off.” She shifts in her seat, leans back against the plush cushions and watches him take another shot, the another, as if it were nothing. Maybe it isn’t, not with that serum in his body. It gives her the opportunity to watch his throat bob as he swallows, and there’s flecks of liquor on his lips she wants to lick off. She grounds herself by grabbing the nearest pillow and hugging it for dear life.

****

“You’re tense as hell,” he says. He shrugs and settles back with her, an arm coming around her shoulder and she lets it, because the contact feels nice. He feels nice, warm even though he’s not really touching her with anything but a stray thumb. It traces lines on her sweater covered shoulder and she pulls her hair up so it doesn’t irritate his forearm.

****

“I’m perfectly fine,” she counters, because she is. Mostly. She thinks so, anyhow. The whiskey makes her feel loose and warm and she turns her head to regard him, brushing her cheek across his skin. “I’m not tense at all.”

****

“Yeah, ya are,” he says, his accent coming in stronger. It’s Brooklyn, a little taste of New York and it was one of the things she’d loved so much about Bucky. But on Steve it’s less salacious and more earnest and she finds that she can’t really compare the two. There were differences about them both, and why was she even thinking about Barnes right now when she was sitting next to Steve? _Ugh_.

****

“Nope. Loose as goose, as Tony Stark would say.” Shuri reaches down to pour herself another shot and Steve watches her intently. “I mean, maybe I was a little tense earlier. You know, when I came in...but that was because I couldn’t sleep and you know how I get when I can’t sleep.”

****

He smiles. “I do. You’re even more grouchy and more of a brat than you usually are.”

****

Shuri wants to be offended but she really can’t bring herself to be. “I’m not a brat, Steven,” she purrs, and she thinks his eyes darken. She knocks back the shot and lets out a soft grunt. “I’m just sure of what I want and I have problems when I don’t get it.”

****

“A brat,” he repeats, and Shuri rolls her eyes, but then he’s leaning forward and caging her in a little more and the laughter tapers off into what she hopes isn’t a whimper because that would be too obvious. “Not that that’s a bad thing,” he says softly, eyes sweeping her up and down. “There’s something endearing about it, actually.”

****

“Everything about me is endearing, honestly.”

****

“Mmm, I can’t argue with that.” He lifts his hand and taps her nose, and Shuri blinks at him stupidly. “This is endearing. So are those big doe eyes of yours.”

****

“You’re awful at flirting, Rogers.” Except he’s not. He’s being so sweet, while exuding so much masculine energy and it’s doing a number on her hormones. God, she wants to crawl into his lap and suck his tongue into her mouth. She wonders what his kisses taste like.

****

“Am I?” He looks a little contrite, but she knows it’s a front. “You mean you’re not swooning at this?” His hand, prone on his knee, reaches over and just the tip of his finger trails from her jaw to her chin and down her throat, and Bast help her, she leans her head back and lets him touch her like this. There’s an innocence about it, but there’s so much else underneath it, a hint of what he’d like to do to her if she allows it.

****

She opens her mouth to say something snarky about his touch, but she can’t find the words because his finger trails lower, hitting the low v of her sweater and ghosting across her collarbone. And all the while, his eyes follow the path he starts on her skin as if he needs to concentrate in order not to lose control. She wonders what Captain America looks like when his control is gone. She wonders what Steve Rogers sounds like when he’s holding her down on his bed and fucking her slow and deep.

****

Shuri’s breath catches and she can’t help but moan when he leans in and kisses her pulse, softly, tenderly, giving her the incentive to push him away if she wants. And when he nips at her earlobe, she clenches around nothing so hard she thinks she’ll scream if he doesn’t do something now.

****

“I’ve got a secret to tell you,” he says, in a voice so deep it could hold the ocean. “I wanna kiss you. So badly.”

****

“What?” she rasps out, because his mouth is moving to the other side of her neck and his hands have found their way to her waist and under her shirt.

****

“I wanna kiss you. Can I?” He leans back then and it’s enough to make her head spin. But his eyes are searching her own intently and he’s actually asking for permission and she wants to growl and smack him as much as she wants to take him to bed.

****

“What do you think?”

****

“I need a yes,” he insists and Shuri does growl then, hopping out of the couch to push her way into his lap and to wrap her body around him as much as she can.

****

“Yes, Rogers, fuck! Shut up and kiss me!”

****

And _Bast_ , does he kiss her.

****

He pulls no punches with his kisses. He nearly devours her mouth whole and his hands ruck up her shirt until she’s damn near out of it. He’s hot, burning almost, and he makes little hungry noises as he takes her mouth, over and over, his tongue pushing into hers and his teeth biting down on her lips.

****

She’d have never guessed he could kiss like this, but she loves it. She’s a mess by the time he pulls away from her lips and continues lower, grasping her hips and holding her steady so she can’t wiggle too far away. But she needs to move against him or she thinks she’ll burst into flames, and she grits out a plea for him to touch her or taste her or anything. Anything at all.

****

“Are you sure about this?” he asks her, as if her body wasn’t sobbing for him to take her. She catches his eye in the warm haze of his living room and nods, then remembers his need for verbal consent and licks her lips.

****

“Yes. Yes, please, I want…”

****

“Yeah?” He grabs her ass then, and she whimpers and he pauses long enough to push his hips up and into her warmth through the fabric of her jeans. Her entire body shivers in want. “Want me to make you feel good?”

****

Shuri thinks she’ll scream if he just doesn’t fuck her already, but she plays it his way. She wraps her legs around his waist tighter and he stumbles down the hall towards his bedroom, to the bed she’d woken up in weeks ago and the soft, jersey sheets and the cool, fluffy pillows. She licks a stripe from his throat up and over to his ear and whispers out his name.

****

“Steve,” she says, and he curses again.

****.** **

****.** **

****.** **

****.** **

######  _d34: “Spank me.”_

****

There’s an area rug that covers the hardwood of his bedroom flooring and in his haste to get her in his bed, he trips over it, stumbling until he nearly falls, but he catches himself with one hand on one of the posts and holds her steady with his other.

****

“I thought you couldn’t get drunk,” she quips, moving to slide off his body but he holds her tight. Apparently, she’s not getting down and into the sheets until he wants her to. He shifts her a little, enough that she rubs against the hardness of his waist, and she bites back a gasp because it was already bad enough that she’d gotten that worked up over making out. It would only make his ego bigger if he knew she was ready to climb the walls just from physical contact.

****

But it wasn’t as if she could really hide it, at least not from looking at him. He gives a grin that says he knows exactly how bad she wants him, and that he’ll do something about it when he wants. With a slight heave, he tosses her onto the bed and she giggles as she bounces off the plush mattress, legs parted and hair askew.

****

“I don’t get drunk, Princess,” he says. “Not even a tickle. Which is sometimes unfortunate, but someone’s got to be level headed here.”

****

She laughs again and when he leans down to kiss her, slowly, she lets him and she breathes in deep as his mouth presses kiss after kiss to whatever bare skin he can find. “I’m not drunk either, by the way. I’m not that much of a light weight.”

****

“So I’ve seen.” Steve pulls back and gets on his knees, his hands hovering above the waistline of her jeans, and he waits. “Just making sure it’s okay?”

****

“It’s okay.” She’s going to have to get used to him asking her this all night, she realizes, so she just goes along with it. “Take ‘em off for me.” And to help, she lifts her hips a little, as he pops the button of the fly and unzips the pants and then pulls them down her slender hips.

****

There’s a moment, while in her little underwear, that she feels somewhat self conscious. She isn’t sure why exactly; she knew she was beautiful, always had. But she also knew she wasn’t exactly the most voluptuous woman on the planet, her limbs slender as saplings, her curves slight. And yet, Steve Rogers seemed to be almost drunk on the sight of her flesh, miles and miles of it as it gleamed in the low light of his bedroom lamp.

****

“I bet you taste good,” he says in a half murmur, eyes sparkling, and he leans down to bite her hip. She giggles because the beard tickles and then whimpers because it’s erotic. Her skin itches to be touched, to be explored, to be tasted and nibbled on so she urges him closer and he takes her hint. He slings his shirt off and she greedily grasps every inch of that big, smooth chest as she can. He’s mostly hairless, except for a little blonde peach fuzz that sprinkles across his sternum, and trails from his belly down into his pajama pants. They’ve got little Mjolnirs on them and she snorts out a laugh when her hand brushes the front of them.

****

“Y’didn’t know?” he says, mischief and mirth all over his handsome face. “Thor’s my favorite Avenger.”

****

“Let me guess,” she responds, sliding her hands into the waistband and digging her fingers into the meaty flesh of his hips. “You’ve got a pair of these for all the Avengers.”

****

“Maybe.”

****

“You really don’t have a favorite, do you?”

****

Steve shakes his head and his laugh shakes the bed and she tugs him down to kiss him once more. He flips her then, and kisses the dimples in her back and the swell of her ass. She wiggles it in his direction and glances over her shoulder and grins.

****

“Go ahead,” she dares him. “Spank me.”

****

Steve raises a brow. “Do you trust me enough to do that?” he asks, and she nods, because she does. “Might get you addicted, though.” He drags his hands across the backs of her thighs, up and in circles, over and over, until she’s sure he’s only going to massage her skin. But before she can even ask him what the hold up is, the air sings between his hand and her body and then there’s a loud smack as his palm comes into contact with her ass.

****

Shuri gasps in air and moans, arching up for more. “Oh Bast...yes, please,” she begs him, and he pulls her over onto his lap and into position. She wiggles impatiently and he smacks her again, soothing the blow with gentle hands, then a wet kiss. And then another, and another, and each time, he asks her if she wants more. By the time his hand burns and her ass does too, she’s almost in tears, aching, itching to be fucked.

****

“I need you,” she breathes out, pulling him to her and he smiles against her lips.

****

“You got me.”

****

Mouths and skin and hair and the smell of him, the smell of his sheets, and the warmth of him washes over her like a sweet, low tide. Shuri arches into his hands and stammers out his name when he tugs off her sweater and bra and slides his tongue across her nipples. He starts to suckle, gently at first and harder as her body reacts to the action, and she digs her nails into his back when his fingers dip into her soaked panties and start to stroke. It’s just a teasing touch, though, not substantial enough to quell the ache and she complains.

****

“Rogers, if you don’t stop playing with me,” she groans out. She needs him inside her, fingers or dick, or both, but he’s trying to draw every drop of need to the surface until she overflows. Shuri whines, moves her hips in time with his fingers, and even begs but he doesn’t go any faster, until the slow, steady circling of his fingers spark an orgasm, a slow rolling one, something that she can feel spreading like warm honey from her belly outward. She spreads her thighs wider and arches her back sharper and moves, and finally, he touches her harder and faster, until she’s cumming and soaking his hand.

**.**

****.** **

****.** **

****.** **

######  _d39: “Let me watch you touch yourself.”_

****

She thinks she sobs out his name, but she isn’t sure. She just knows he looks wrecked as she feels, hair a mess and chest heaving as he holds back long enough to rip off her underwear properly. The pajama pants are gone then, too, leaving him naked, and Shuri’s mouth opens softly at the sight of him.

****

“Oh…”

****

“Touch me,” he whispers, so she does, and he’s hard and hot and soft all the same time. She strokes him and he grunts, moves his hips without thinking into her little hands and she’s thankful that she’s so turned on, because he’s big, just like he is everywhere else, and her mouth waters at the thought of him stretching her slowly. He looks so good while she’s jacking him off, and she gets a marvelous idea, one rushes from her mouth before she can really think twice about it.

****

“Let me watch you touch yourself.”

****

Steve hesitates for a moment. “You mean you wanna…”

****

“Yeah.”

****

He bites his reddened bottom lip and scoots backward into the bed until he’s pushed against the headboard. Licking his palm, he takes himself in hand and begins a slow, steady stroke, the fingers of his other hand sliding across his chest and down his belly, to his thighs, thick and muscled and peppered with blonde hairs, and finally to his heavy balls, where he grips and rolls them expertly.

****

“Bet you spent a lot of time doing this, huh?” she says, lazily, her body still humming from her own orgasm. His eyes meet hers and it’s like being electrocuted. He’s so close to falling apart, and his hands move faster, his hips pushing up to meet them.

****

“Yeah,” he groans out. “Been single a while.” He grunts, shifts his hips and the twist of his wrist until he’s panting and moving in the bed. “Fuck...I’ve thought about you sometimes, too,” he confesses and she sucks in a breath, peels off her socks, and crawls up from the bed to where he is.

****

“You don’t have to think anymore,” she says, slinging her legs over his waist and he lets go of his dick and slides his fingers into her wetness again. This time, he pushes inside her and she clenches down around those fingers, thick and sturdy, and rocks her hips so they slide out of her a little. She’s desperate now. She’s gotta have him, and she whines out his name.

****

“Hold on,” he pants. He reaches over to his night stand and wiggles the top drawer, pulls out a roll of condoms, and rips one off the line. With shaking hands he slides it over the head and down, wraps an arm around her middle and pulls her on top of him, slicking his dick with her honey and watching her face as he does so. “Tell me when.”

****

Shuri swallows and threads her fingers through his hair, soft and thick. She knows that were she to walk away right now he wouldn’t stop her. Her heart thumps pitifully at the thought and she presses a hand to his chest as she sinks down. “Now,” she breathes, and he pushes up and inside her in one swift motion, knocking the air from her chest.

****

He’s bigger than he looks. He stretches her almost painfully, but it’s the good kind of burn. She sits still for long moments and just feels him, and he’s patient, though she knows how much he wants to move.

****

“Are you alright?”

****

She nods, hangs her head and shifts her hips up, moaning as she does. “Uh huh. Fuck. C’mon Steve. With me.”

****

They find a rhythm, something steady and deep and it’s mindblowingly good. He’s got fist fulls of her hair in his hand and his hips and thighs move like pistons as he fucks up into her, matching her pushes downward, over and over and over again.

****

She’s cumming before she can even anticipate it. It knocks her blind, and she screams, throaty and full as he pushes her through it. And he keeps going, faster and harder until she’s pressed into the mattress and he hovers above her, still joined, still deep. He makes her open her eyes to watch as they move, and sweat collects in the hollow of her throat as she meets his thrusts.

****

“One more, darling,” he says, his voice shaking and raspy and it sounds as though he’s dying to cum with her. “Cum for me, please, let me see you cum again.”

****

Shuri’s head falls back and she digs in her fingers to his sides and lifts her knees, taking his every hard thrust with rapturous pleasure. She never wants this to end, but she’s aching to cum once again and she wants to see him fall to pieces. She works her hips in little circles beneath him and he cries out, his knuckles turning white as he grasps the sheets. And it’s only a few more snaps before she tumbles over the edge and drags him down with her, heat and sweat and the mingling of their voices as they lose control.

**.**

****.** **

****.** **

****.** **

######  _c42: “Oh, don’t cry. I hate it when you cry.”_

****

Shuri’s fairly certain she’ll be walking funny come morning, because he takes her again a few more times, and feeds her again in between, until the first rays of dawn begin to break and she’s exhausted enough to curl up against him and fall asleep.

****

“You’re not gonna tell, right?” she murmurs, as his hands stroke her skin, and she feels him shake his head.

****

“Not a word, if you don’t want.” If she wasn’t so sleepy, she’d think he sounded a little sad about it. But she didn’t want to think about all of that, so she lets the warmth of his body and the thud of his heartbeat lull her to sleep.

****

She wakes up abruptly, the sound of her cell in the other room going off, and for a moment she panics, because she’s naked in someone’s bed and she’s forgotten whom.

****

Blonde hair and fair skin remind her of the night before, as does the love bites on her breasts and belly, and Shuri blinks groggy eyes in the late morning light. Steve still slumbers, sprawled over the mattress like a king. She thinks about running. She thinks about what would happen if Bucky or Sam found out she’d slept with Steve when she’d once upon a time been in love with Bucky.

****

There were bro codes against this, wasn’t there? _Fuck_.

****

She scrambles to find her clothes, coming up short with only her sweater and panties. Her jeans are nowhere to be seen and she’s forgotten where her boots or socks went. The bed shifts and confused blue eyes meet her wide, startled ones.

****

“Um…”

****

“Are you okay?” he asks, and she hates how concerned and how sweet he sounds because this probably was a mistake.

****

“I have to go,” she says, stumbling over and finally finding her jeans. They hang from the footboard almost obscenely, and she gets flashes of conversation, of accusing, disappointed looks.

****

_“Can’t believe you’d do that, Shuri.”_ She can imagine Bucky’s face, curled up in disgust, while Steve stands behind him looking sheepish and Sam laughs cruelly. _“Fucking my best friend, huh? The only way to get next to me, right?”_

****

She blinks back tears that spring up before she can stop them and almost falls over trying to get out the sheets and out the bed, but a strong arm pulls her back.

****

“Hey, hey, wait! Look, hey, what’s-”

****

“I have to go! I shouldn’t have…” She swallows and shakes her head.

****

“Talk to me,” he pleads, and she feels awful now because she knows he wouldn’t tell. She knows he’d keep this between the two of them, and she’s probably making him feel terrible about all of it. And she starts to cry, because she doesn’t regret last night. But she’s scared. She doesn’t know why, but she wants more than a one night stand and she isn’t sure how to tell him that or if she even should.

****

“Okoye was right,” she wails, shaking her head and scrubbing at her eyes. She doesn't notice him moving in the bed. She doesn’t notice much of anything because she’s having a meltdown right now. “I need to cut out white men. You’re bad for my health.”

****

She almost wants him to laugh and not so subtly tell her to get out his bed, because it’s Friday and he’s got shit to do, but he doesn’t. And in retrospect, she’ll wonder why in the world she ever thought he could do something so rude. He’s Steve Rogers and there isn’t a rude, unchivalrous bone in his beautiful body. Years ago, she’d have thought he was all smoke and mirrors, but she realizes he’s the real deal. He really is that kind in real life.

****

“Hey.” He slides a warm hand up her bare spine and in spite of her misgivings, she leans into the touch. “Don’t cry, please.” He sounds so sorry about it. Whatever it was, though, she still couldn’t figure out. “I don’t like seeing you cry.”

****

“You’ve never seen me cry before,” she counters, a little stiffly, but when his lips press against her vertebrae, she sighs, eyes slipping shut as memories of last night, of his mouth on other places, filter through her mind. “I mean...not really.”

****

“Mmm yeah, but it’s not something I like seeing.” She thinks he might be smiling. “Unless you’re crying because you’re laughing really hard. Or happy. I like those kinds of tears.”

****

“Could you maybe perhaps be a bit more of a jerk about this?”

****

He snorts. “Nope. Not in my nature.” Those big warm hands pull her back until she’s lying prone in the bed again, pillows fluffed up around her head and Steve’s arm wraps around her waist as he lies beside her. She’s a little self conscious about her nude form even still, but Steve seems as appreciative as he’d been last night, several shots of whiskey in and half drunk on her kisses. He leans down and ghosts his breath across her nipples and though she’d just been a sobbing, annoying mess, she’s already turned on again. Fuck.

****

“It’d make it easier to do the walk of shame,” she murmurs, digging her fingers into his impossibly soft hair. “Mmmm...if you’re uh...kind of a...mmm, Rogers, c’mon...I’m trying to talk!”

****

He laughs and lifts his head, letting go of her nipple with a soft plop that shoots a spark of arousal straight to her core.

****

“Why would you need to do the walk of shame? I’m taking you home.”

****

“Oh.”

****

“Yeah...oh.” He moves over until he’s nestled between her thighs again and she spreads and lifts them eagerly. “But before that…”

****

Shuri bites her lip and tugs him down to kiss her, his mouth just as sweet as it’d been the first time he’d kissed her, his breaths warm and wet on her skin. She moans as he pushes his hips into her body and he’s hard already, thrumming with energy that has her digging her nails into the back of his neck and her heels into his ass.

****

“C’mon, Steve,” she breathes, and he captures her lips again and again, brushes his nose against hers as he slides his hands across her torso. “Three before breakfast.”

****

“Three? Greedy.”

****

“I am a brat, after all.” Shuri feels any bit of trepidation from earlier melt like fog.

****

“You want pancakes?” he asks, and he’s a little breathless, so she reaches down and grasps him in hand, anticipation and adrenaline coursing like electricity through her veins.

****

“Uh huh.”

****

He reaches over for the pack of condoms blindly, and tears one open, handing it to her to do the honors. She slips it on easily, without looking, and arches her back as he presses forward, slow, until his mouth hovers right above hers and then he’s sinking in deep, pushing in home, and they moan together.

****

“Fuck…” he whispers, and she laughs.

****

“Language,” she says, and then she groans his name as he pulls back and takes her again.

 


	2. two

for **resplendentgoldenwings** , who requested:

c10, b39, a26, c18, d50

* * *

****

######  _C18. “I’m coming for you, don’t move!”_

He likes to imagine he knows what he’s doing, but the truth of the matter is, Steve has no idea.

****

Most of this was his own fault; he’d been slacking when it came to keeping his baser emotions in check lately and he blames it entirely on the lack of a solid relationship. Sharon was old news, and Nat was too caught up in what a newly divorced Clint Barton was up to, so he’d been on his own for a while now. And while he thought he and Sam had something, Sam never pushed for more than domino nights at his place, all of them including Bucky for whatever reason.

****

Steve would, eventually, realize Sam had a thing for Buck, and honestly, he had absolutely no problem with that. In fact, he was on the verge of right out encouraging the coupling; they’d be good for each other, even in spite of their little faux rivalry and constant insults. It was endearment, especially if he knew Sam the way he knew Sam and knew Bucky the way he had, long ago.

****

Buck used to could roast the hell out of someone. It was starting to come back to him, in quiet, almost unexpected ways and Steve was happy to see the healing process take place. Sometimes, it was painful, and some nights, he was up till four or five that morning with Buck on the couch, Sam beside him, as he talked and talked and talked until he could sleep again.

****

And sometimes, he was as witty and charming and down right mischievous as he’d been circa 1942, and Steve watched as Sam ate every bit of that Bucky up.

****

So while his head had been in matchmaker phase for the last few months, he hadn’t been lying when he told Shuri he’d thought of her. It was inevitable. If there was one thing he and Tony had in common, it was a weakness for strong, beautiful, smart women. And Shuri was all three, almost to a mind boggling degree.

****

She was also significantly younger and had something with his best friend a while back, so he always kept his distance, mostly cordial, though an odd thread of hostility ran through their interactions. He assumed it was leftovers from the war, when tensions ran high and they’d all said and done some nasty things to each other to survive. But the truth would reveal itself with time.

****

Steve realizes, as he lies in bed, sleep eluding him once again, that it’d been nothing more than sexual tension. Strong sexual tension, because she was absolutely delicious and his body had a nasty way of reacting when she was around. 

****

Memories of the last two weeks keep him from shutting down and just going to bed. He’s gets a flash of dark skin and soft lips, gentle sighs and erotic moans, and the tightest, wettest, sweetest pussy he’d ever set his mouth on. That was the one thing he’d wanted to do more than anything when she gave him the go ahead, but somehow, on that first night, he hadn’t gotten the opportunity. He’d made up for it, though, and there were days where she’d call him over to that big penthouse of hers just so he could sit on his knees and let her ride his face.

****

Steve wasn’t complaining. No sir, no ma’am.

****

His contemplation of her absolutely addicting body shifted to her almost irresistible wit. There was something about her he couldn’t quite get away from, a combination of her inherently bratty behavior and innate kindness; her sharp wit and staggering intellect; and possibly, the sweet, almost girlish way she said his name. That was the simplest thing about her, and oddly enough, his favorite, because no one says “Steve” the way Shuri does.

****

Steve shifts to his side and flops his head across his pillow, uselessly trying to keep his eyes closed and his thoughts a bit more chaste. It’s not working anymore than the itch to pick up the phone and call Shuri isn’t working and with a groan, he sits up and hunts for his cell, tucked away on the nightstand and charging.

****

He thinks of something slick and sexy to say to convince her to let him come over or vice versa, but the second he unlocks the screen the phone vibrates, and message after message pops up, some from over thirty minutes ago and the last one just a minute. And they’re all from Shuri, ranging from all caps and cursing to sad faces and teary eyed emojis. He sucks in a breath and groans, deciding to skip right to calling instead of trying to text her back.

****

The phone barely rings one full time before she’s on the other end, breathing hard and sounding like she’d been crying or screaming or both.

****

“I’ve been trying to get you to answer me for half an hour!”

****

He sighs and turns on the lamp light. “And I’ve been in bed for longer. It’s called going to sleep, Princess, might wanna try it sometimes.”

****

Shuri scoffs, sniffles, and sighs as though she’s at the end of her rope. “I would if I could,” she says pitifully, and though he sympathizes with her apparent insomnia, he can’t help but be annoyed that she assumes he’s the cure for it.

****

Though, upon thinking about it, maybe he was. She was out like a light every time they spent the night together. He smothers a grin and adjusts his dick in his pants. Thank god he wasn’t wearing underwear.

****

“You can if you stop going out every night.”

****

“I don’t. Not every night.” She blows out a breath and he can almost imagine her shiver. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and wonders why in the world she’s out in 20 degree weather when she could be in the warm safety of her penthouse, but he’s got a good idea what she’s been up to and it makes his stomach feel odd.

****

“Whatever. What’s the issue that you had to get me out of bed at…” He glances at the clock on the dresser, and snorts out a laugh because he hasn’t gotten to bed before 12 since he’d first kissed her. “2:30 am?” He shakes his head and slides out of bed, already looking for his shoes and jeans. “What’s up with you and 2 am anyway? Is that your magic number?”

****

“Isn’t that the witching hour?” Her teeth chatter over the line and he presses his phone between his ear and shoulder, digs around in his hamper for a thick sweater, and finds the scarf he’d been hunting the other day.

****

“Uh...shit, I don’t know.”

****

“What’s with you and cursing so much lately?” she asks, and he almost laughs. She has a point; he’d done a lot of cursing with her around, more than he usually did, and he had a feeling most of that was the almost violent spark of his libido.

****

“Don’t worry about why I’m sayin’ what I’m sayin’ and send me your location.”

****

“Bossy prick,” she mumbles, but there’s a little bit of humor in her voice, as much as being stuck in the cold will allow. “It’s on it’s way. I won’t tell you to hurry up, because then you’ll take your time, but I’m turning into an icicle and-”

****

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming for you. Just...don’t move, okay?”

****

She sighs and when she speaks again, he can hear the tiredness and fear in her tone. “I won’t. I’m on the park bench.” She pauses, and Steve plops down on the bed to tug his socks on. “It’s dark out here, Steve. Please hurry.”

****

If he pushes the Volkswagen twenty over the speed limit, well...that’s for him to know and for her to never find out.

.

.

.

. 

######  _A26. “Don’t push me away.”; B39. “You don’t have to leave so soon.”_

“Are you gonna ask why I called?” she says, sliding into the front seat and pressing her hands to the heater. He’s got it going full blast and even brought a throw along so she could wrap up. She snuggles underneath it gratefully.

****

“Nope. None of my business.”

****

She hums and plays with a thread on the throw, leaning towards the window and quieting down for a while.

****

“There’s a bar we went to. It’s not as far out as we are now, of course but…”

****

“Right.”

****

“So I was gonna maybe go home with this guy. I don’t know, I just…”

****

She trails off and watches him expectantly. But he was an ace at keeping his emotions in check and from passing across his face, so he doesn’t react. He remains neutral and glances in her direction as street lights illuminate the car. 

****

“Go on.” He honestly doesn’t want her to. He wants her to tell him that she’d changed her mind because she realized what she needed was in a brownstone in Brooklyn instead of at some silly nightclub. He wants her to smile at him and tell him to take her to his house, to peel her little dress off and make love to her slowly, gently, until she was arching from his bed and sobbing his name and moon shaped nail prints dotted his back. He called them his battle scars. He loved every single one of them, too.

****

But Shuri bites her words off and shakes her head, apparently done with her explanation. “Anyway, that didn’t work, so here I am.” She pauses and checks her kimoyos and replies to a few messages, then her phone, which is mostly dead he can see from the corner of his eye, and settles back in the seat with a heavy sigh. There’s a lot on her mind, but she doesn’t seem like she wants to talk.

****

Steve wishes he had a logical explanation for why he wants her to talk to him about it. It’s not his business and he wasn’t her boyfriend. Hell, he wasn’t sure entirely if he was even her friend, just her on call dick appointment.

****

The more he thought of it that way, the more degrading it felt and his entire mood soured.

****

“You’re usually a lot more chatty than this,” she says quietly. The silence in the vehicle is broken only by the crunch of tires on snow and the faint whisper of the radio in the background. It’s some sort of soft rock station playing; he doesn’t recognize which nor does he really care, but it’s a lot better than listening to nothing or being lost in his thoughts. He turns it up and Shuri shoots him a weird look.

****

“Okay then.”

****

“What?” he asks, maybe a little harsher than he wanted. He has no idea why he’s so tense. He feels as though his whole body is vibrating with tension and stress and he hates it. How could one woman get him so worked up like this? The radio hums along obliviously.

****

_“She had a place in his life/ He never made her think twice...”_

****

“I thought perhaps my conversation was more interesting than...this.” She gestures to the radio and wrinkles her nose. “Whatever this is.” She pulls out her phone and taps on the screen, then holds it to the speaker of the Volkswagen. “Um...the Doobie Brothers? What’s a Doobie Brother?”

****

Steve shakes his head. “That’s probably a question for Bruce, to be honest. I’m not quite caught up on my music yet.”

****

“Hm.” She leans her head against the window and readjusts the throw over her, catching the beat and starting to hum a little. “It’s catchy, though.”

****

“It is,” he agrees, but he wishes he hadn’t actually paid attention to the lyrics now. Maybe the radio wasn’t as oblivious as he wanted. 

****

_But what a fool believes, he sees /_ _No wise man has the power to reason away_

 _What seems to be_ / _Is always better than nothing_

_Than nothing at all_

****

_Fuck_.

****

Steve moves to switch the station to something else, anything else, but a small hand pops his before he can touch the dial. “Hey, I like that one!” she protests. 

****

Steve frowns. “This isn’t your car, Princess,” he informs her, gruffly, but he doesn’t bother switching the station now. “You don’t get to dictate what I play.”

****

“So touchy, goodness,” she grumbles. She smirks in the corner of her mouth, though, when she sees he’s relented. “I’m going to stop waking you up at 2 am from now on. You’re a bigger grump than I am without sleep.”

****

“That’d be nice, thanks,” he retorts. “Most normal, decent people are in bed at 2 am. NOt out roaming the streets like a hooligan.”

****

Shuri frowns and he nearly regrets what he’d said, but she rolls her eyes and waves him off. “You’re an old man, of course you don’t think anyone is up at that time. Some of us have insomnia.”

****

“You’re saying that like it’s my fault.”

****

“Might be,” she says, and she turns back to the window. He waits for her to add to her statement, but she doesn’t and he feels his temper rising and he hates that. People didn’t make him angry so easily, not the way she could.

****

“I’m gonna need you to cut that shit out.”

****

Shuri snorts out a laugh. “Your new favorite word, Captain.”

****

“Shuri.”

****

“What?” She sounds almost strained and the jesting drops until she looks as worn down as he’s starting to feel. “What do you want me to say?”

****

Steve takes deep breath after deep breath and pulls onto the freeway that will get them back to her place. She looks lost, a little disappointed, and he realizes she hadn’t expected that he’d actually take her home. At least, not her home. Then again, for the last two weeks they’d spent nearly every night together in some sort of capacity. He feels foolish for entertaining her when she’d probably been using him as some sort of distraction. And yet, the tone of her voice speaks of something deeper than being bored.

****

“What are we doing here?” she asks, frowning. “I thought...I didn’t wanna come here, I assumed we were-”

****

“Don’t you have work tomorrow?” he asks, cutting her off with no nonsense tone. He’s got to be firm and nip this in the bud. She can’t just walk all over him as if he were any schmuck off the street. She’s quiet for the few minutes it takes to pull to the curb, and then she’s grumbling under her breath. If his hearing wasn’t so fine tuned, he probably wouldn’t have heard her.

****

“I’ve got a lecture at 2.” She slings the throw off and grabs for her purse on the floor of the car, her actions choppy and irritable. “That’s twelve hours from now, so no, nothing pressing which is why I thought you’d want to go back to your place and…” She laughs, something hard and bitter and he feels absolutely awful right after. Why was he being such a jerk?

****

“I didn’t realize it was that late,” he says, trying to smooth things over. “I just uh...I didn’t want you late for anything because we don’t get much sleep when you’re at my place, and you need to be rested-”

****

“Oh come off it, Rogers,” she grumbles. “You can tell me when you’re tired of me, you don’t have to play stupid.”

****

Steve blinks in the moonlight and grips the steering wheel. The radio’s gone to commercial and the engine idles like a purring cat and he wishes he could just rewind the last ten minutes. It had less to do with her using him and more to do with her simply not wanting to be alone. 

****

_Good going, Steve,_ he thinks. _You’re a real champ for that._

****

“Have I ever said I was tired of you?” 

****

“You’re a man,” Shuri says with a sniff. “You don’t say shit, you just drop hints.” She slings the door open and steps out onto the cold, slick pavement, wobbling a bit as she slips and he’s out his seat and over to the other side of the car without thinking.

****

“I’m fine!” she says, a little too loudly. He watches her face to make sure she isn’t drunk, and she looks mostly sober, if not ready to tear up. He feels even worse.

****

“Shuri, let me-”

****

“I said I’m fine!” she screeches, and there’s a sob in her throat waiting to burst out. Steve keeps his grip on her tight and refuses to let her go, closing the door to the car and leading her around it with only minimal protesting. She looks tired all of a sudden and he wants to pick her up, scoop her into his arms and tuck her into bed the way he had that night she’d gotten drunk at the club.

****

“Do me a favor.”

****

“I’m tired of doing favors,” she huffs, but she lets him lead her up the slick steps to the penthouse. “I’m tired of people and men and everything.”

****

“Yeah, I get that.” He did. He’d had a period after the war where all he wanted was to be left alone, in his own thoughts and with his own company. Thank god for Tony’s cabin on the lake. Six months of uninterrupted peace and quiet had done him a world of good. He thinks maybe Shuri just needs a break.

****

Right now, though, he knows she needs a friend. Not a hookup, not a dick appointment-a friend.

****

“Do you?”

****

“Mmhm. I’ll tell you about my little sabbatical upstate in a minute, if you want. Might be a good idea.”

****

She shakes her head and puts in the code to the front door by memory, and she seems almost ready to collapse. What had happened at the club? “I don’t need a break,” she says weakly. She sniffs and pushes open the door when it unlocks and lets him follow. “I just...I need to be…” She sighs hard and Steve’s chest aches.

****

_I don’t want to be alone._

****

“Hey.” He turns her around until she faces him, tilts her chin up and watches her face until she has no choice but to look into his eyes. There’s a storm brewing around in them, dark brown and beautiful, and he just wants to make it better, no matter what that takes. 

****

“What?”

****

“About that favor. It’s simple, honestly.” It probably wasn’t simple if Shuri were anything like he was because the urge to just run and hide from anything and everyone when stuff got to be too much ran deep within him. He’d been fighting that urge for years. “Don’t push me away, okay?”

****

She regards him for a long moment and then gives an imperceptible nod. “Whatever. Can we just go upstairs?”

****

“We?” He swallows and she nods again, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close. She’s still for a while, just listening to him breath or the beat of his heart or both. He strokes her shoulders through her coat and lets her. He’d be fine with it if she just need to fall asleep on him like this. 

****

“You don’t have to leave.” She sniffles and he hopes she isn’t crying because he really did hate to see her cry. “I mean, if you don’t wanna. I don’t think I’ll get any sleep tonight.”

****

“Good thing your lecture is so late, then, huh?”

****

“Yeah. Good thing.” There’s an attempt at a smile and Steve thinks perhaps this might be the one night they actually keep their clothes on.

****

He’s a little more than okay with that, too.

.

.

.

.

######  _D50. “I’ll let you do anything if you’ll just touch me now.”_

Shuri kicks her heels off at the door of her place and slings the coat onto a chaise, and Steve’s been over at her house enough times now that he doesn’t feel weird about following suit. He’s a little neater about it, tucking his boots under the coat rack by the door and hanging his jacket up but he’s not going to sit around in her penthouse looking like an awkward guest.

****

He wasn’t. He was her friend. He’d decided that in the few minutes it took to go upstairs. He was her friend, and sometimes, he was also her lover, and that was fine. Mostly. 

****

He decides not to think about it too hard right now, and joins her in the kitchen, where she digs around her mostly empty fridge for something to snack on.

****

“I need to get groceries,” she muses, settling on a cup of manderin oranges and a beer. Steve almost comments on her choice of drink, but thinks better of it. She was a grown woman, no matter how young she appeared, and if she wants a beer before bed, that was her business.

****

But he didn’t like how much she drank. He’d never liked it, not in the months he’d really gotten to know her, not after that weird fallout between her and Buck. Honestly, she’d been doing some really edgy, risky stuff since they damned near all died beating Thanos, and he was a little worried. But she hadn’t given him enough to assume he could bring that up without being prompted, so he didn’t.

****

Maybe he’d talk to Okoye about it. He and the general were pretty friendly, and she was close to Shuri. It was something worth looking into, anyway.

****

“We can go grab a few after your class tomorrow, if you want,” he offers. He’s got a car and only a few engagements in the morning so he’s got the time. She seems to perk up at that thought and it warms him.

****

“Only if we can go to Trader Joe’s. Last time I went to Whole Foods, my carrots were mushy and slimy.”

****

“Whole Foods is overrated anyway”, Steve says, agreeing, and she shoots him a soft smile. That was progress, at least. It was better than the lost expression she had on her face before. “Personally, I like Brooklyn Fare, but that’s a little out of the way from your place.”

****

“It’s not far from the college, though,” she says. “And it’s nice, too, I mean…” She shrugs. He realizes she’s trying to ask for something without asking for it and it’s both cute and exasperating. 

****

“You said men drop hints, but Jesus, Shuri, you can’t seem to say what you mean no matter what.”

****

Shuri groans and slams her fridge shut, tossing him a beer as she does. “Oh shut up. Men wrote the book on passive aggressive bullshit. Men are the ones who shoot out those weird mixed up signals.”

****

“I like to pride myself on not being one of those.”

****

“ _Not all men_ ,” she says in a mocking tone and he shakes his head. Apparently, she’s got a bone to pick, but he prefers that over her clamming up. “That’s what all of you say. That’s what he said when he told me I was pretty and he wanted to take me home tonight, and you know what? He didn’t.”

****

Steve keeps his mouth shut and pops the tab on his beer. He sips slowly, in contrast to how she chugs hers back, and waits for her to continue her rant. She’s just getting warmed up.

****

“Fucker. I get all dolled up to meet him. You know, I’m a busy woman, I don’t have time to just go out partying every night, right?” He nods for good measure, though she seemed to have been doing quite a bit of that lately. He figures it’s wise not to contradict her right now, though. “Anyway, he seemed nice enough and I wanted something to do so...I mean, the club was fine. I took Samantha and Marissa from the lab along just in case, cause you never know.”

****

“Smart, smart.”

****

“Thank you, I know.” 

****

Another chug of beer and hers is done, so she opens the fridge again for another. He raises a brow but bites his tongue.

 

“So anyway, we link up and things are going alright at first. He seems to like me. Wants me to dance with him, so I do, wants to buy me a drink, so I accept. And I’ve got that nail polish on that turns colors-” She shows him her light pink polish, and he hums, though he’s not sure what she’s talking about. “-if there’s something weird in your drink. Drink was fine. I had two. And I was honestly okay with going home with him, because I’m a free bitch and I can do what I want. It’s not the Victorian Era, I’m sure there’s nothing wrong about going home with a guy on the first date, right?”

****

“So, it was a date?” Steve’s stomach churns and he clenches his can unconsciously. 

****

“Well, yeah, duh, Steve. I mean, I just told you it was. I met him on Hinge, not Tinder, so it wasn’t just a hookup, you know?”

****

“Hmm.”

****

“You disagree,” she says dryly. “Whatever. You’re too old schooled.” 

****

“But anyway,” he says, hoping she’ll drop the subject, because it was making him want to break something and he had no reason to feel like that. Besides, the so called date had obviously failed so why was he so put out about it?

****

_Because it wasn’t you, duh._

****

He tells his brain to shut up and focuses on her venting, and she gets more and more worked up as she goes.

****

“I don’t know what happened. We were heading to his car and he kept texting someone. I thought maybe he had roommates he was checking to make sure weren’t home and…” She stares out across the island, blankly, and he knows she doesn’t see him or anything else. She blinks and her face is so angry, but so broken, and he frowns, moves closer. 

****

“It was a bet.”

****

Steve opens his mouth, but he’s at a loss.

****

“What?”

****

“A fucking bet. Shithead bet some of his friends he could get me back to his room for a grand and was texting them the self congratulatory good news. I saw the message he sent when he stopped to get gas.”

****

“What the fuck.”

****

Shuri laughs but it hurts to hear. “You know, he almost won too. He was cute and funny, sort of, and I was lonely.” She shrugs. “I told him I changed my mind and he got pissed and kicked me out at that bus stop. And then I called you.”

****

“Why not Samantha or Marissa?” he asks. “I’m sure they would have come to get you, right? Or an Uber.”

****

“I didn’t want them. I didn’t wanna call an Uber.”

 

She traces the rim of her beer and energy, electric and dark, pours off her body in waves. He’s torn between wanting to wrap in his arms and kiss it better, and insisting she sleep this off. He doesn’t want her making any decisions in this sort of mood. 

****

“But you wanted to call me,” he says. He tries to tease. “Wanted to get me out of bed and fuck up my sleep, huh?”

****

She doesn’t take his bait. He swallows and reaches out to her. “Hey, look, I’m not mad about that. At all. I told you that you could call me if you needed me, right?” She nods and lets him pull her close. 

****

“Yeah. And I mean, it wasn’t as if you were actually asleep, anyway.”

 

She finally meets his eyes and she grins, but it’s too sharp and her eyes were so angry. She slides her fingers through his hair and tugs, her body pressing against him until he could feel her heart beating in her chest. And though his body couldn’t help but react, especially when she nuzzles his neck, he doesn’t want her like this. It doesn’t feel right, not at all.

****

“I might have been,” he says, stepping back. She follows, her grip in his hair so tight now it almost hurts. 

****

“You weren’t. You were lying in bed, awake, thinking about me.” She laughs and tip toes up, kissing his jaw, and he shivers. “Thinking about my mouth and thinking about me naked, right?”

****

He had been, but he won’t admit it. It wasn’t the time, nor the mood, and so he decides on a little white lie.

****

“I wasn’t. I was out like a light. Had to get up and use the john and saw you called.”

****

She snorts and leans back to assess him and dammit, she’s a good reader because she calls it. “Liar.

****

“What are you doing, Shuri?” he asks, his hands around her waist but he tries hard to keep his hips from pressing into her. She makes it difficult as she clings to him, and she grasps his face in her hands.

****

“Right now, I’m kissing you, Captain.”

****

He thinks he could resist that, but her kisses taste so good and her mouth is so inviting. He moans into her mouth and squeezes her tighter, until she’s breathless and panting and she moves back to lead him to her room.

****

“No, not tonight,” he says weakly. “Let’s just talk, okay?”

****

“I’m tired of talking,” she growls, and she pulls him harder. “I’m tired of thinking. I just want you to fuck me.”

****

Steve swallows thickly and shakes his head. He feels woozy and he hates it. This doesn’t feel giddy and high the way it usually does. It feels wrong. He tries again. 

****

“You need to get some rest,” he says. “Take a nap, at least, then maybe we can grab some brunch tomorrow before your class. And we’ll go grocery shopping after and-”

****

“Brunch?” She snorts derisively. “Do I look like I want to do brunch?”

****

“Maybe?”

****

“You’re being dense. Stop it.”

****

“Then go take a damn nap,” he says gruffly, and he pulls away. She looks hurt and his stomach aches and then she laughs and it makes him want to apologize. “Shuri...come on, you’re not feeling well right now.”

****

“I’m not,” she admits, and he sees her start to cry. She comes to him again and snuggles in close, pleading. “But I can take a nap later. I’ll do whatever, if you just touch me right now. Please. Steve, I need you.”

****

As much as he wanted he had to tell her no. It hurts to see her look so angry when he does, when he pushes her back once more, gently. She nods and shrugs as if she’d almost expected it and what she says makes him feel physically sick.

****

“I see why the two of you are best friends,” she says, and she doesn’t even have to mention who. “You two made a game out of rejecting me, didn’t you?” His temper sparks, though he’s more sad than angry, and he moves around her towards the front door. “Just leave then, I don’t give a damn!”

****

“Good night, Shuri,” he says firmly. She laughs again and it’s hollow and pained.

****

“Must be fun to see the little rich bitch get knocked down a few pegs, yeah?”

****

“Go to _bed_ , Shuri.” 

****

“Fuck you too, Steve Rogers!” she calls, faux cheerfully, and he slips on his shoes, grabs his jacket and opens the door with a heavy hand.

****

The sound of her heels hitting the wood echoes through the empty hallway of the building.

.

.

.

.

######  _C10. “Don’t look at me… I’m sick!”_

He forces himself to bed when he gets home. It’s a fitful rest and he feels like shit when he wakes up. He stumbles to the toilet to relieve his bladder and then steps back and regards himself in the mirror when he washes his hands.

****

He looks like hell.

****

A shower helps take a little of the edge off but he feels hollow and bitter most of the day. He tells himself over and over that he did the right thing. He tells himself sleeping with someone who obviously was distressed was a terrible, predatory thing to do and that he’d never take advantage of Shuri.

****

But he wonders if maybe he could have done something else, something more. She probably thinks he’d abandoned her. Her harsh, nasty comment about Bucky had stung badly. 

****

What exactly had Buck done?

****

All the information he had about their fallout led him to believe it’d been a misunderstanding. Shuri had a crush that Bucky hadn’t reciprocated and when he turned her down, she’d been a little upset. But for the most part, there seemed to be a level of maturity with the whole thing. She still considered Bucky a friend and he most certainly still cared about her tremendously.

****

And then Steve remembers the odd way Bucky had been acting that night at the club. There was a mean, almost petty streak in how he behaved, especially once Shuri showed up. It was as if he were trying to make her jealous, holding the other woman’s hand and dancing way too sexually for the song. Sam had noticed too and been stewing about it in the corner, but Steve figured it was moreso because he’d been jealous.

****

It strikes Steve, as he gets home from his engagements, that Buck had been desperately trying to make Shuri, jealous, too, and he didn’t understand why.

****

The thought eats at him as he rifles around the kitchen for stuff to make lunch with. He’s out of bread, so no sandwich, and he’s not in the mood to cook anything. He feels drained, and a little out of sorts and when he glances to the clock, at half past three, he wonders if Shuri’s day had been as shitty as his had started.

****

All he wants to do is apologize. He slips his phone out his back pocket and contemplates sending her a text, something, so she didn’t think he’d forgotten about grocery shopping or about her. He could never forget about her. He couldn’t even manage to keep his mind off her for longer than five minutes.

****

There aren’t any notifications from her; there’s one from Tony, inviting him to dinner the next week and another from Nat, a picture of her and Clint and Wanda at the Grand Canyon. He smiles and sends her a happy face and a thumbs up, then asks about their little road trip politely, but his heart isn’t in it.

****

And something doesn’t feel right. 

****

He checks his limited social media-Twitter and Instagram-but there’s no activity from Shuri. He fights with the inclination to text her, just to see how she was, even if she didn’t respond. He’d at least get a ‘read’ notification and he’d at least stop feeling so weird.

****

The knot in his belly twists tighter and makes his decision for him.

****

_hey. how’s work today?_

****

Steve waits fifteen minutes, minutes where he does anything possible to distract himself. Sam calls asking what he was up to the next evening.

****

“Thinking about going to the pool hall tomorrow after my last client, if you wanna come with.”

****

He glances at his phone once more. The message to Shuri remains unread and he wonders if maybe it was too casual for how angry she was the night before.

****

_look, i’m sorry about last night. can i make it up to you?_

****

“Uh, yeah, sure. I don’t have any plans.” He didn’t think he had any and the rate things were going, he probably wouldn’t for the foreseeable future. He groans internally. Leave it to him to mess up what should have been fun and casual.

****

Sam is quiet on the other line, way too quiet, and Steve has a feeling something is wrong his friend’s end, too.

****

“Are you alright, man?”

****

Sam sighs. It’s a heavy thing, and he feels it resonate deeply. “Nah. Not really. I sorta wanted to talk about some stuff.” He pauses and the silence is heavy, too. “Just you and me, if you don’t mind.”

****

Oh. So there were Bucky issues on Sam’s end, too. This was shaping up to be a mess. He almost thinks of backing out simply because he really didn’t wanna be in the middle of what he knew was going to probably be some drama. But he couldn’t let Sam down.

****

“That’s cool, man, just text me when you get out the office. I’ll be home. We can go to Brannigan’s.”

****

Sam sounds a little relieved. “Sweet, thank you. Um, were you busy right now?”

****

“Not...entirely, just…”

****

“Look, finish whatever you were up to and we can talk tomorrow. I swear, it’s not that serious but I need a level head and-”

****

“I might be the worst person to ask about anything,” Steve says with a soft laugh. “But I’ll give it a shot.”

****

Sam hangs up with a promise to send him a text the next afternoon and Steve tries to wait another fifteen but there’s still no response. He can’t get rid of the knot in his belly as he stares at the unread texts. He calls her line at the college, figuring she was just busy after her lecture and ignoring him. The assistant that answers the phone informs him curiously that Ms. Udaku hadn’t made it to work that day, and had canceled her lecture for the afternoon, but she could take a message.

****

Steve hangs up almost abruptly and goes back and forth between sending another text or not but his feet are already halfway down his front steps before he ever gets one word typed. The Volkswagen speeds towards Manhattan through school traffic and he curses as he gets caught behind a bus. 

****

“C’mon, c’mon!” he chants, deciding to try calling her on the way. Her phone goes straight to voicemail. He makes a quick, reckless dart around the bus and gets a wild car horn for his effort, courtesy of the pick up behind him. Steve pays it no attention. He calls again, then again and slams the phone on his console when she still doesn’t pick up. Vaguely, he hears the radio in the back ground, still on the same station.

 

_But then I only want the best, it's true / I can't believe the things I do for you..._

****

But he’s close to her penthouse and so he forces himself to calm down. She might not even be home, but it’s worth a try to see.

****

The door swings open as one of the other residents leaves, chatting animatedly on her phone. Steve shoots her a quick, charming smile and slips in behind her, taking the stairs to Shuri’s floor and forgoing the elevator. He didn’t want to wait and he had the energy-and nerves-to burn.

****

He’s breathless by the time he’s at her door. His hand clenches as he lifts it to knock and he waits, just a moment, then knocks again. It’s heavy and loud and if she’s inside, he knows she’d hear him. 

****

But much in the same way as her calls had gone unanswered, so too does the door.

****

Steve sucks in a deep breath and leans against the wall, fighting panic. What if something had happened to her? What if she were hurt or injured inside and he couldn’t get to her? He was seriously considering knocking the door down when it cracked open, just a little, and warm air from inside her home washed across his neck.

****

“The hell is all the damned knocking for?” she asks. She sounds wrung out and raspy and when he turns, his eyes widen at how pitiful she looks. 

****

“I just...I was wondering if you were okay.”

****

It sounds stupid to say outloud but it’s the truth. She rolls her eyes, but there doesn’t seem to be any actual venom behind the gesture. If anything, she looks too tired to muster any.

****

“I’m alive, if that’s what you came for.” She blinks at him dully and sighs. “Stop staring at me like that. I’m sick!”

****

Steve pushes the door forward a little. “Are you gonna let me in, or leave me in the hallway?”

****

“I just said I was sick, Rogers.”

****

“So?” He shrugs as if it’s no big deal. It really wasn’t, not as far as he was concerned. It was hard for Steve to get sick, even in the face of stomach flu. He remembers doctoring on Nat and Bruce both when a bad case went through the compound.

****

“So, I wanna go back to sleep.” She sounds so grouchy but he can’t help but smile, if only in relief. “Can I go get back into bed?”

****

“Only if you let me in.”

****

Shuri groans but she steps backward and Steve moves into her dark, heated apartment. She’s wrapped up in a blanket, wearing fuzzy socks and a big shirt with her hair piled a top her head. Steve thinks she looks adorable, except for the bags under her eyes and the chapped lips. 

****

“Did you come down with something?” 

****

Unbidden, almost on instinct, he reaches out to touch her forehead and she snorts, then winces. “Uh, I think so. I woke up feeling like absolute trash.” It doesn’t sound very sincere, and when he glances across the foyer to the kitchen, he sees why. 

****

There’s three bottles of whiskey on her kitchen counter and one is half full while the other two are empty. Shuri stands silently, guiltily, and Steve’s heart sinks.

****

“Shuri…”

****

“I don’t wanna hear it.”

****

“I’m not saying anything, just...why?”

****

She tries to laugh but it seems so hard for her to get out. She settles for a choked snort.

****

“I didn’t wanna think anymore. Whiskey helps, sorta.”

****

Shuri moves into the kitchen and tosses the empty bottles into the trash, then tucks the half full one back above the fridge where her other bottles are. 

****

“To be fair, one of those was almost empty already, so I really only had a fifth and a half.”

****

“Of whiskey. By yourself.”

****

She shrugs again and the blanket slips off. Her shoulders seem so thin that he winces. 

****

“I don’t see why you’re so worried,” she says bitterly. “You left.”

****

Steve presses his lips together tightly and fights a harsh comment because that was the last thing she needed. And he knew she was reacting out of hurt. Him leaving her alone last night must have felt like another rejection. He needs her to know it was anything but.

****

“I did.” He moves slowly towards her and touches her shoulder lightly and she winces. It breaks his heart. “Shuri, you weren’t...there was no way I was gonna…”

****

“Yeah.” She swallows and looks down away from him. “I realize that now. You know, after throwing up for six hours and dehydrating myself and nursing a headache so bad I swear someone drilled a hole into my head...I realized that.” She shifts the blanket so it covers her once more and shivers a little and he hopes she’s not cold. It was hot enough in the penthouse. "I'm not mad about it anymore."

****

“I don’t wanna take advantage of you. I know we’re not...dating. I guess?” The word feels odd coming out his mouth, as if it doesn't belong there.

****

Shuri shakes her head and makes a face. “Bast, no. I don’t have time for a boyfriend. And honestly, why would I date you?” She gives him her best approximation of a smile so he knows she’s teasing him, which should make him feel better, but her words sting for some reason. He plays it off reasonably well, though, he thinks. He nods and nudges her very gently and she sways a bit.

****

“Bed. You wanted to get back into bed, remember.”

****

“Ugh, yes, I do. It’s been my best friend today.” She starts off down the hall to her bedroom, dragging the blanket along and he follows. “I feel bad about cancelling the lecture but honestly, it’ll be fine. I’ll just give anyone who might have showed extra credit.”

****

“You’re better than most of the teachers I had in school.”

****

“Did they even have school when you were a kid?”

****

Steve can’t help but laugh at her quip, and when she pushes open her bedroom door he whistles at the mess in her room. Clothes are strewn across the floor and draped over her chaise lounge. The sheets hang half from the bed and onto the carpet and pillows lie here and there. 

****

“How do you sleep like this?” he asks, thinking of his own carefully straightened bed. It seemed practically pristine in comparison.

****

“It’s usually not this bad, you know that,” she says, almost offended. “I just don’t feel like fucking with it right now.”

****

Steve picks up a pillow and sets it on her desk and surveys the damage. He could probably get a little of this picked up for her if she’d sit down and sip some water for a bit, so he begins to gather her clothes and hunts for her hamper to put them in. She flops down on the bed and watches him curiously for a while, before calling out to him.

****

“Why are you doing that?”

****

“Because it needs to be done,” he says simply.

****

“I can do it later.”

****

“I know.” He says nothing else for a while and gets her clothes done, then moves to the sheets, rearranging them around her as she perches on the edge of the mattress. When he moves over to where she sits, she touches his forearm, her hands clammy and her lip wobbling and Steve has never wanted to cradle someone in his arms so badly before.

****

“You didn’t have to do that.” She swallows hard and sways again and he stops what he’s doing to scoop her up, easily, her slight form light in his arms. “Steve! What are you-”

****

“Shut up and let me take care of you.” He softens his tone and brushes his lips across her forehead. “Please.”

****

Shuri opens her mouth to protest but it dies in her throat and she leans her head against his chest, eyes closing. He settles her in the middle of the bed and makes it up around her, tucking her underneath her thick comforter and into the fluffy pillows like a child. She still looks like hell and he knows she probably needs more fluids and maybe even something in her stomach, too.

****

“Do you have any soup handy?”

****

She shakes her head, never opening her eyes. “I don’t have anything, honestly. Just more liquor and a few bottles of water.”

****

“We’ll start with water, then.”

****

He makes her sit up and sip on a lukewarm bottle so she doesn’t vomit again from the clash of temperatures, then makes a quick list of grocery essentials to grab at Trader Joe’s. She’s not in any shape to go shopping today, but he can at least get her something to keep her from starving for a few days.

****

“Steve.”

****

He turns to find her standing in the hall, sans the blanket. Her hair is down and she still holds her water bottle, but the shivering has stopped some and she can hold her head up a bit.

****

“I’ll be back.”

****

“Promise?”

****

He nods. “Promise.” He turns towards the door with a few fabric bags to carry her things in and pauses when he hears her draw in a shaking breath. “I mean it. I’ll be back.”

****

“Okay.” She nods and curls her toes into the floor. “Thank you, by the way.”

****

“Don’t mention it, Princess,” he says with a smile, and he closes the door with a soft click.

****

The trip to the grocery store and back takes less than thirty minutes. He’s got all the stuff she might possibly need to get her feeling better, plus a few extras and he’d gotten them both grilled veggie wraps from the deli along with chicken soup and some Gatorade to get her electrolytes back up.

****

She’s back in bed when he comes in, using the key he’d snagged from her foyer table, the comforter piled around her like a fort. Her phone rests in her lap and she stares out her window, at the darkening afternoon sky and the frost on the glass. He wonders what’s on her mind. Whatever it is, it’s heavy.

****

“I got you chicken noodle, chicken and rice, egg drop, saltines…” 

****

She doesn’t turn her head and so he rambles, because he’s scared to know what she’s thinking. 

****

“Gatorade, though someone told me there’s more sugar than electrolytes in that stuff. I don’t know, we’ll see. More water, and some stuff to meal prep for the rest of the week. Veggie wraps, so you don't have to worry about cooking right now.”

****

More silence, and he moves toward the bed, reaching out to touch her bare hand. She doesn’t shrink away from him, so that’s good. She still seems so lost, though. She looks adrift, as if she had no idea how to find her way back to shore. He wraps an arm around her middle and pulls her flush against his chest, and to his surprise, she leans into him with a sigh.

****

“Steve?”

****

“Hm?”

****

“I need to stop. I don’t wanna do this anymore.”

****

“Drink?” 

****

She nods. “Well, not to the degree to which I imbibe,” she clarifies. “I wouldn’t mind a nice cosmopolitan every once in a blue moon, the way I used to do it.”

****

“Gotcha.” He brushes her hair away from her shoulder and tucks his chin there, tempted to kiss her. He feels her body start to unwind in his hold and so he dares to place a quick peck to her skin and she hums. “I agree that you do need to stop. Or, slow down. Something.”

****

“I need to see someone. I don’t know why this funk won’t fuck off but it’s been here for months now and I can’t shake it.”

****

“Probably a good idea. We all need help, you know. Nothing wrong with a little therapy.”

****

She sounds small when she turns to him, her eyes wide and innocent. “I’ll probably have to go home, then. I don’t...I feel comfortable there, and-”

****

“Then go home for a bit. Spring break is in March anyway, right? Think you could handle another month and a half?”

****

She considers it. “Maybe. I might need a little help.”

****

He can’t help his grin and she chuckles into his throat as she leans forward to snuggle close.

****

“I’m a superhero, darling. That’s what I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi and send me more prompt fills; i'm over on tumblr
> 
> ❤️ lilithenlatum ❤️


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